


I Will Play Punk, Bruce

by AtomHeartBrother



Category: Iron Maiden
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 18:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13507308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtomHeartBrother/pseuds/AtomHeartBrother
Summary: Steve is upset with Bruce after he returns to Maiden, but maybe they could both find a common ground by some unorthodox methods... (written from Steve's POV)(reupload from my rockfic account)





	I Will Play Punk, Bruce

I just couldn't deal with him anymore. It was the littlest bloody thing, and yet there I was running around my hotel room in circles, clenching my teeth and my fists, looking for a thing to break.   
First hit received the cabinet under a large mirror. I kicked it, but it wasn't enough for me. On it, there was a glass. I didn't want to make a lot of mess, didn't want to cause someone else problems just because I was angry.   
As I was pacing back and forth I was still going over the chat I had with Bruce. It only was as if to pour more oil into the fire. 

“I can't break anything, I can't break anything...” I was chanting to myself. And then... I broke. I ran out of my patience. I took the bass that was lying on the bed by the neck and hit it on the floor. Once, twice, till the paint was chipping off of it as I beat it and I didn't stop until I felt the strings digging into my hands too much and until someone opened the door.

I looked up, throwing the bass on the floor theatrically. I was sweating and heaving.

“Davey, would you please kindly SOD OFF!?” I tried to hold myself back, but I couldn't avoid yelling the last words at him.

“Sorry...” were his only words as he closed the door. I heard his footsteps becoming more distant. And then it was quiet. So quiet, except for the hum in my head as my blood and the adrenaline were rushing through my whole body.

I sat down. Put my head in my hands. I felt a sudden sickness to my stomach. I looked over at the bass, but I couldn't see how much damaged it was, because tears were forming in my eyes already and everything was so out of focus.

“Damn you, Bruce!” I sniffed and gritted my teeth. I climbed up on the bed, not bothering with the fact that I was wearing my shoes. I curled up, with my back to the door and let the tears stream down my face in the most ugly manner. I couldn't care less. Until I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“I'm sorry, Harry...” 

I knew who it was, but his voice was weak, low and very sincerely concerned for once.

“Go away, Bruce,” I managed to whisper.

“No, I want to apologize. I was acting like an ass. I know I shouldn't have said that to you, or... you know...” He trailed off.

I looked at him over my shoulder. He was crying too. I was still so angry at him. And also at myself. I laid back down so that I didn't have to look at him, and he didn't have to see me crying. After a while of complete silence, he laid down next to me, our backs touching. 

“I'm sorry, Steve, what can I do? I don't want you to be sad or upset, but...” 

That “but” made me certain that he won't back off from his place in the argument. He just won't let me win and he’s unable to accept his defeat. But we were both like that. Too stubborn, proud and ambitious. It got us where we were. It got us to this ugly hotel room with a unnecessarily large mirror and a scratched wooden cabinet, with a glass that wasn't broken, because I spared it, and with a bass that I didn't spare and was definitely broken and currently lying on the floor. And with a bed with two sad losers on it.

“I'm sorry too, Bruce, I shouldn't have lashed out at you. I admit I overreacted.” I said.

“I... I just,” he gulped, “ I feel like something changed while I was away, Steve, I would like to work on this. I want this to be like back then.”

“I want that too, I want it to be even better than then,” I sat up and looked at him, I didn't want him to feel this miserable, “Oh god, I missed you so much, Bruce. I want to be close to you. You matter to me, and yet I act like such an asshole... Just, sorry again.” I put my hand over my face, apparently to really highlight how embarrassed I was.

He slowly sat up as well. Then he put his arm around my shoulders and pulled me closer.

“I accept your apology. You matter to me as well,” he put his other arm around me.

I hesitatedly hugged him back. And then as I looked into his eyes I playfully pulled him back down onto the bed. I smiled lightly.

He returned the smile.

“Let's work on our relationship then,” I kept smiling.

“In what sense?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

“In this sense,” I lifted myself up a bit and brushed my lips against his.

He followed my movement when I lied down again, and didn't stop kissing me even after that. We only parted because of the lack of air.

I caressed his cheek. And suddenly got so scared. We weren't this intimate before. Or at least I didn't remember anything like this, and I believed that I would. Then I sighed and gathered all my bravery and stubbornness and looked into his eyes.

“How much do you think you want to work like this today?” He asked, smiling much more sheepishly.

“I... we'll see where we get,” I ran my hands up and down his sides, momentarily showing off his belly and the happy trail.

Then somebody knocked on the door. Bruce immediately stood up. And I did as well a moment later. They knocked again and so I went to open the door.

It was Rod.

“Steve, can I have a word with you?” He asked.

“Can it wait a bit?” Bruce said before I could respond, “I was discussing it with him already, if you came here to talk about the earlier discrepancy.”

Rod just blinked a couple of times, then said: “Okay, that's good for you that you finally found a way how to solve those. Uh, good for you,” he left while doing hand guns.

“We should lock the door if we want to continue,” Bruce suggested.

“I think I will look at the poor bass,” I picked the instrument up from the floor. It wasn't as broken as I thought it would be.

“Is it still good?” Bruce asked, looking over my shoulder.

“I don't know, but I think I won't play it either way.”

“Why? Not your aesthetic, since the paint's chipping off now?” He joked.

“If you're gonna nag me, I will leave Maiden and start a punk band. And I assure you I will play this bass.”

He laughed nervously. 

“You know what? You can have it. As a reminder of sorts.” I handed it to him.

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure,” I smiled sincerely.

He hugged me immediately after he put the bass safely on the bed.

“Thanks, maybe I'll learn how to play it,” he chuckled.

“Maybe I should teach you, then.”


End file.
